Category: Weird Fiction

The Cottage – Chapter Twenty Nine – (Short Story)

On By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, Original Fiction, The Fractal Journal, Uncategorized, Weird FictionLeave a comment
Image result for synapses firing
Part One | Part Two |Part Three |  Part Four |Part Five |  Part Six |Part Seven |Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen |Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen |Part Nineteen | Part Twenty | Part Twenty One | Part Twenty Two | Part Twenty Three | Part Twenty Four | Part Twenty Five | Part Twenty Six |Part Twenty Seven |Part Twenty Eight

There was a sensation of whirling, of spinning headlong blindly through ether. It felt like eternities had passed between the clap and the first glimmers of some strange purplish light.

“Holy shit it’s laser Floyd!”  Jim exclaimed facetiously.

“Are you familiar with physics?” Germain inquired.

He could hear the question but see nothing besides darkness, and the strange hazy purple glow.

“Are you familiar with physics?” Germain repeated.

“Apparently not. Unless ya drugged me.”

“There’s no need to force the lock if you’ve got a key.”

“Maybe so…”

“Just so.”

“Uhuh, and uh what the hell door did we just step through here?”

“I guess I should get more specific. Are you familiar with circuits?”

“Sure, I’ve wired a house before.”

“There are countless electromagnetic impulses. That is the universe and its operation. It is one vast eternal brain folded densely to infinity. With time and patience, one can learn to prune this synaptic garden that blossoms in perfect holy Chaos.”

“If it’s so holy…than how come you’re prunin’ it? Isn’t that kinda cocky?”

“The root of chaos is in the seeking of order. Its worship is thus inevitable. Whether I call it holy or damned it will birth and be praised by every principality.”

“So God is chaos?”

“To the untrained God is such an absurdly vast chain of causality, such a solipsistic, self-referential thing; that had religion not risen to facilitate communion, to distill the essence of the unfathomable, only angels would approach understanding.”

“That’s a pretty big word salad you served up to such a simple question.”

“What you are seeing now, is how these mountains draw and transmit celestial light from distant stars. Their pulsing is sentient and wishes to add flesh to its nerves. Seeks this with such zeal that it will have any form. Because the El are divided, it manifests as troops of grey monstrosities chittering the discord that binds them to the ground bass of the errant heart of the fallen.”

“Gnarly.”

“I am talking about a current. They will it one way. It is our duty to will it aright. You, young fool, are merely a very specific transistor that has unfortunately become indispensable to rewiring the aeon.”

Jim wasn’t really sure what all that meant.

“You see, some Angels would prefer that only they would approach understanding.”

“You’re talkin’ bout some cosmic country club?”

The old man chuckled.

“And you want me to crash their Thursday night social?”

“Yes!”

“How?”

“Go to the caves.”

There was another clap. The world returned. Everyone was in the exact same spot, making the same exact motion, as when Jim had slipped into the dark following the first.

It seemed that the old man and he, had just had a private conversation in some secret room.

“What was that purple light?”

“Well, it’s usually more blue round here, there’s no name for it really…but I’ve always called it ‘transcendental electricity.’ We all have it. We are all particles in its waveforms. As individuals and as nations…But of course the El have a stronger current…so its dramatically visible in etheric space. And even in the earth…as I’ve said…it is blue…I believe you’ve seen it. And you will…you must see it again. Go to the caves.”

“Hell no. I’m not getting my city slicker ass stuck in some hillbilly crawlspace.”

“There is no danger for you. Your blood knows the way.”

Jim shook his head.

“Don’t you want to crash the party?”

This time he cocked his head and smirked at the prospect of some good Yuppie thwartin’ possibilities. But he did not relish the idea of dying in some pitch black hole no man was meant to spelunk. Much less a tenderfooted one like him.

The old man held his gaze for a spell and then turned to stare at the fire.

Jim, a few drinks past the limit of self consciousness shifted his attention to Elsa.

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The Cottage – Part Twenty Eight – (Short Story)

On By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, Original Fiction, Stories, The Fractal Journal, Uncategorized, Weird FictionLeave a comment
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Part One | Part Two |Part Three |  Part Four |Part Five |  Part Six |Part Seven |Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen |Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen |Part Nineteen | Part Twenty | Part Twenty One | Part Twenty Two | Part Twenty Three | Part Twenty Four | Part Twenty Five | Part Twenty Six | Part Twenty Seven

Jim was stuck again by the shift in atmosphere. With all these bodies luxuriating by the firelight it was indeed downright homey. The warmth was pleasant.

But it was also naseuting. Jim did not trust these fine feelings. He did not want comradarie with these soft strangers.

“I’ve heard you call these things the El more than once. What is that…?”

“It is an emanation of the Most High or rather an echo. Whose seal is Saturn.”

“I thought they were from Saggitarius.”

“The manifestation on this plane is mediated through the sixth planet from the sun.”

“Huh?”

“What do you suppose it means to be cast down?”

“Uh…”

“Which fate is grimmest for an angel?”

Jim rolled his eyes.

“To be clothed in limit. Girded in restricting loins of flesh. Mind you it is possible to be immeasurably powerful despite such division. They are clever and it was they that taught us to forge the rawness of the earth into sword and iron.”

“So gremlins…are aliens…who are angels….because….reasons?”

The old man chuckled hollowly.

It did make a certain sense. All these various takes on a single phenomenon. Strange little introductions in a history that only appeared in snippets to the attentive. But so what? That’s the thing that Jim didn’t undestand. That he never understood about all this religious sort of stuff. So what?

Fine people perished along with the wicked. And of what consequence is it that they dwelt in grand eternities?

Of what consequence is a principilaity of imps in a thing like eternity? A thing that nullifies. Time the great healer, the great eraser, stretched limitless across the canvas of forever…whatever its mechanism…so what?

“Just be mindful that they don’t entrace you. There is cause. I see their poison dancing in your eyes.”

Jim gulped. He was still indeed between worlds.

“Can’t knock me down.” He insisted.

“At this late hour, they are a part of us all.”

“I have no parts.”

Elsa giggled.

“You are as fragmented as a mosaic. This is the lot of man. To gahter himself tile by tile, till he beholds his place in the firmament, and his connexion to the Godhead.”

“Right on man.” Jim mocked.

“Listen boy, it is at great cost that I and those here assembled have gathered enough of ourselves to see you through.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. As they seperate the spirit from the flesh so must you seperate their flesh from their spirit. They must not be allowed to cross the threshold as corporeal till the appointed season.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You don’t have to. No one expects a rotten tapestery to herald truth. You must follow for each faithful step will be be rewarded by increased sight.”

With this the adept clapped his hands and the cottage went dark.

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The Cottage – Part Twenty Seven – (Short Story)

On By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, Original Fiction, The Fractal Journal, Uncategorized, Weird FictionLeave a comment
Part One | Part Two |Part Three |  Part Four |Part Five |  Part Six |Part Seven |Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen |Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen |Part Nineteen | Part Twenty | Part Twenty One | Part Twenty Two | Part Twenty Three | Part Twenty Four | Part Twenty Five | Part Twenty Six

Jim could barely sit up. There had been gravy….with a side of gravy…dipped in venison and lard. He had to go outside with a mug of coffee to keep from falling asleep. The cool evening and the swaying trees were bracing. And each sip of the bold black liquid helped restore his verve.

Elsa and Germain were in the center of the meadow. The elder was gesturing heavenward with his arms in a slow methodical sort of way. Though he couldn’t hear them and they were blanketed in darkness Jim thought he saw Elsa nodding along.

His curiosity sufficiently peaked, he set off in their direction. The odd pair were further than he had guessed, and he was winded by the time he reached them. Neither  turned as the old man continued pointing and speaking in a low accented voice.

Elsa was indeed nodding along as she asked questions in what Jim guessed to be French. Now that he was close he followed the elder’s pointing up to the target.

A chill ran down his spine.

It was the very same cluster of stars he’d seen that night he got paralyzed on the granite. Though he didn’t know the name he’d remembered his boyhood visits to the cottage. Visits where Hant would point at this ‘the archer’ the ‘town hall of the galaxy.’

Jim was frightfully curious now. Both as to why everybody was so fixated with this southern cluster and as to how exactly Elsa had gotten that wheelchair so far over all this  thick tall grass.

“Stargazing?” He inquired.

She turned round lightly and blew him a kiss. “Yes, izn’t eet wanderful!”

“Meh, I guess,” Jim responded. “But, if I’m being completely honest I’ve kinda had it with stars out here. There’s too many and they seem too bright, too close. It’s like being stuck up heaven’s asshole.”

Elsa laughed good-naturedly.

German could not turn his wheelchair and opted to instead mutter something in French.

“I thought you were a kraut broad?”

“Dee French border iz not far frohm Hesse.”

“Don’t you Eurodorks know that the only language worth talkin’ is God’s own English.”

Elsa stuck out her tongue.

“I can speak the language of dogs perfectly.” The oldster retorted in cut-glass poshness. “I’d simply prefer not to contort such a noble instrument as the human tongue into such barbaric positions.”

“Another feisty Boomer?” Jim rolled his eyes.

“No, you arrogant little Anglo fool, I may well have sired your grandfather.”

“…uh…so we’re related?”

Elsa laughed. “Nein, at least I don’t dink so…” she said turning Germain’s chair to face them. “The doktor has been leeving very long and is very wize. You must heer heem. He will helf you.”

“Ok, so what’s up with these stars Doc? Hant was crazy about ’em.”

Germain nodded. “That is Saggitarius.”

“Afraid I don’t take much stock in that astrology shit.”

“This is astronomy you mealy-brained Paddy. Astronomy that will be your undoing unless you learn it.”

“Rather be a Mick than a Frog.”

Elsa shook her head.

“I’m about to let you on something that won’t be revealed for several decades. I have every right to tease you.”

“Fine by me, so long as I get to tease back.”

The elder ignored this repartee.

“Saggitarius is located near the center of our galaxy. Near the border of Saggitarius and Scorpius there is a black hole.”

“Ok. That’s pretty sci-fi.”

“The cliche is true. Fact is stranger than fiction. This currently theoretical construct is the highway by which your little friends travel. Or rather the mechanism…”

“Neat, so how does all this work and uh…more importantly what the fuck are they…?”

“That is a very long story and I am very cold. So we’ll have to continue this indoors.”

Elsa got behind the wheelchair-bound elder and began to push him effortlessly over the uneven ground.

Jim grabbed the back of the chair. “Hold on. How the hell…”

“Elsa get this baboon off my damned throne.”

He was completely disarmed by the sensation of soft fingers tickling his kneck and warm whispers caressing his ears. “Heel tell you soon…just letuz got noaw.”

“I’ll tell him now!” The old man exploded. “You have to dumb things down for his lot so it won’t take long. It’s coated in a polymer…o wait that’s a bit too difficult…I’m sorry….it’s magic WD-40!”

“See, that’s all I wanted.” Jim responded.

“Yes, now that this bog breathing alleycats base curiosity is sated CAN WE PLEASE GO INSIDE..”

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The Cottage – Part Twenty Six – (Short Story)

On By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, Original Fiction, Stories, The Fractal Journal, Uncategorized, Weird FictionLeave a comment
Image result for norman invasion
Part One | Part Two |Part Three |  Part Four |Part Five |  Part Six |Part Seven |Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen |Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen |Part Nineteen | Part Twenty | Part Twenty One | Part Twenty Two | Part Twenty Three | Part Twenty Four | Part Twenty Five

The fire was already blazing. Its warmth and the presence of people gave the austere cottage a homey feel. Jim was surprised by the party that had gathered. There were four guests. Which to his accustomed isolation qualified as a crowd.

Elsa was stoking the flame in front of the wheelchair bound cipher he’d glimpsed the other evening. The elder was as still and silent as before. Jim was annoyed by the familiarity with which Luckadoo folded his unwieldy frame into a recliner as Lizzy disappeared into the kitchen.

“So, should I get used to surprise parties?” He queried ruefully.

“You’re gonna start to miss us real soon.” Jonas replied.

“I’ve never been much of a social butterfly…”

“Good news is that you can go back to being an introvert. Since, we’re going to be leaving the valley in a matter of days. The bad news is you’re going to continue to have company.”

“As long as they knock…I’m not bothered.”

Jonas gave a low chuckle.

“I think you already know that your new friends aren’t much accustomed to such niceties.”

Jim was tempted to make a joke at Lizzy’s expense but he was cut off by the unpleasant recollection of those eyes.

There was a brief moment of uneasy silence. It felt like Jonas was letting the fear set in.

“Well, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna get myself a drink.”

Luckadoo spread his arms in an expansive motion. It was annoying. Jim got the impression that he was being invited to his own home. He crossed the floor to the mantel with as masterful an air as he could muster and poured a tumbler full of Johnny Walker Red.

Plopping on the couch he shot his legs up on the coffee table. “So, ya got somethin’ to tell me?”

Jonas nodded.

“Well…?”

“I’m almost certain you’re hungry.”

It was true. Jim was hungry. It kept him from exploding in rage at the commandeering of his kitchen.

“Don’t worry,” Luckadoo grinned wryly. “Lizzy’s portions are heartier than Charlotte’s.”

“Well, good.” Was the pithy reply as Jim downed the whiskey and poured himself a second in a single motion.

In his efforts to establish dominance he hadn’t noticed that Elsa and the old man had taken their leave.

“So, who’s the old timer?”

Jonas exhaled smoke and allowed for a moment of silence.

“He’s an uncle of mine. Though I’m not sure he’s actually blood. His name is Germain and he is a Norman.”

“Ok…”

“I think that you’re going to be very interested in what he has to say.”

“He doesn’t seem to have very much to say at all.”

Jonas laughed. “As far as I understood that’s a habit he’s had since youth. He’s always been taciturn. It’s part of the reason you’re going to find his speech especially useful. Germain focuses most of his energies on inner work and thus is quite the adept at dealing with the El.”

“Now when you say the El…you mean those goblin things?”

“Yes…after a manner…that is to say…they are a manifestation of the El.”

“Uh…huh…” Jim’s eyes glazed over.

Jonas decided not to dignify that particular bit of snark with a response.

“So…since everybody and their uncle seems to know so much more about all this weird ass voodoo bullshit how come it’s all my fuckin’ responsibility.”

“You are bound by blood.”

“Well, that’s not very fucking fair is it. Had no part in any of these shenanigans.”

“If you understood it…which I’m hoping you very shortly will…you’d realize that it was indeed fair. You didn’t spring out of a vacuum Jimmy boy, none of this did.” The giant said outsretching his arms again to indicate the world.

“Ok…”

But, Jim didn’t have time for a witty repartee as Lizzy’s piercing voice penetrated every wall of the cottage. “Dinners reddy…kom n git it!”

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The Cottage – Part Twenty Five – (Short Story)

On By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, Original Fiction, Stories, The Fractal Journal, Uncategorized, Weird Fiction1 Comment
Image result for cigar in the dark
Part One | Part Two |Part Three |  Part Four |Part Five |  Part Six |Part Seven |Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen |Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen |Part Nineteen | Part Twenty | Part Twenty One | Part Twenty Two | Part Twenty Three | Part Twenty Four

It took awhile for Jim to regain his senses. The dusk had settled. There was nothing left to do but head for shelter. The thought that terrified him most was that anything was possible.

He kept feeling himself pulled along by strange tides. All those insane suggestions he’d just drunk from a firehose, were threatening to hypnotize him, to leave him tethered gawking and exposed in the strange wilderness.

It was odd how quickly the pleasure of the mountains turned to terror. The fear that Jim felt was not corporeal. Bodily harm was the least of his troubles.

The thing that worried him was that there was no safety. There were no absolutes. The only reality was flux, self-referential, unoriginate, and eternal. He bit his lip.

This steadied him somewhat. Awareness shifted from yawning abysses to the delightfully familiar cicada song. The approaching evening was cool. The change in temperature helped orient him to reality and he trudged homeward.

Something seemed amiss upon approach. Caution seeped into his limbs as the anomaly was slowly drawn from his subconscious.

The door was slightly ajar. All traces of wonder vanished in an instant as the sobering caution of self-preservation took hold. Jim’s footfalls became stealthy as his ears grew keen.

While memory proved foggy the probability that he’d left the cottage permeable was low. The reptile brain had complete mastery now, and he treated the situation like one of his burglaries. Flanking the wall, he soon found his suspicion well founded.

Audible but unintelligible, faint traces of conversation reached his ears. There was also an odor. A familiar odor. The odor of a peculiar cigar.

Broad footfalls resounded as the door swung inward and a giant with a hot cherry emerged.

“For Gods sake, boy, would you get inside. You just walked across several thousand yards of open meadow. And now you think you’re Seal Team Ten.”

The voice was as unmistakable as the commanding height from which it came.

The sardonic profile of Jonas Luckadoo was revealed by the waxing glow of a cigar puff. Jim was too astonished to speak.

But not for long.

Annoyance found his tongue for him. “How the hell did ya get in my house?”

“Is that any way to greet a friend?”

“Friends don’t usually break into friend’s houses.”

Jim shook his head and grimaced his displeasure with the banter.

Just as he was about to speak another body, comically small in contrast to that of Luckadoo, energetically crossed the threshold.

“If it isn’t the fool.” Came another unmistakable voice.

Lizzy seemed to have made a full recovery. He could feel the strange wizened energy that radiated from the crane-necked crone even at a distance.

“To what do I owe this displeasure?” Jim inquired as he realized how Luckadoo had gained access to the cottage.

“We thought you could use some company.”

“Couldn’t you wait on the porch like normal people?”

“This is my house.” Lizzy answered defiantly.

“Then how come I live here?”

“Cause you got the blood. But I’m tellin’ ya, I got the deed.”

“Well, there does seem to be a reason I’m here. So as far as I see it I live here. And while I live here I’d appreciate it if you didn’t just traipse through my living room.”

“Don’t you have questions?”

“Yeah…I already asked them.”

“So, you want to know why we’re here?”

Jim nodded.

“After all that you’ve seen, the question you have to ask is why your friends popped round? You’re an odd sort aren’t you?”

Jim nodded again.

“Well, I just don kir whether you’re curious or not. Fools gotta be forcefed at times.” Lizzy said as she shot down the stairs and dragged Jim inside by the ear.

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The Cottage – Part Twenty Four – (Short Story)

On By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, Original Fiction, The Fractal Journal, Uncategorized, Weird FictionLeave a comment
Image result for stump in a meadow
Part One | Part Two |Part Three |  Part Four |Part Five |  Part Six |Part Seven |Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen |Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen |Part Nineteen | Part Twenty | Part Twenty One | Part Twenty Two | Part Twenty Three

“It is a science as mercurial as whimsy. The tides that pool between the stars are arranged like shifting sands. It is not a thing for the mind of man. That is the reason for intermediaries. A Hessian may master English but neither the English or German or any of the nations fathom the speech of Nu. As is so often the case in diplomacy, the first order of business is procuring a translator.

For this purpose you have the tablets contained herein. But beware, you must first rid the void of interference. You must massage the will of those who detest mankind. For it was from the beginning that they desired to cut us off from conversation with the Most High, considering us a mistake.”

Jim tossed the letter aside taking a shot of whiskey. He still didn’t get it. Though subtle suggestions made themselves apparent like glimmerings of distant stars.

He sighed at the pedantic madness of all that he’d been instructed to do. Place this here, build this there, invoke such and so, on and on it went.

Thinking about it made his head hurt. So, he decided on a stroll.

He walked westward across the meadow. It was late afternoon and characteristically pleasant. Even with the bizarre rings it was so easy to forget esoteric madness in the mellow mountain sunshine. Everything here was pleasant and straightforward. The dreams the ancient landscape engendered were hearty and wholesome.

So, Jim daydreamed. Wondering how different his life would have been had he known these trees more intimately than subways. But, his reverie was not meant to last.

For there, carried unmistakably by the prosaic air, was the blasted eldritch chirping.

Jim rolled his eyes annoyed at the interruption. But his annoyance soon gave way to curiosity. There was something different about it, two things in fact.

It was but one voice. This was not the disorienting call and response chorus he was accustomed to hearing. And it wasn’t intermittent but rather rapid and fevered as if something were in distress.

He gazed in the direction of the noise and his eyes fell on the stump. It took mere milliseconds for a devilish smirk to spread across his boozy cheeks. The trap had worked. The disturbed grass and broken branches were such a satisfying confirmation, that he actually clapped his hands in glee.

This feeling did not last.

Joy was joined by apprehension, and caution followed in their wake. The cries were pleading and insistent. How long had it been there? And how soon before its fellows came to its aid?

Jim shrugged. He was already exposed, and he may as well satisfy his curiosity. He paused one last time at the lip of his trap. What if it was armed? Or poison? Despite all the reading he’d done he still had no idea about the practical characteristics of these things. He cursed his uncle’s mysticism.

‘Fuck it.’ He shrugged again. ‘Somethings you gotta figure out for yourself.’

Peering cautiously into the pit he could at first see nothing but darkness. The bright daylight made it difficult to discern the strange thing among the shadows.

Jim gasped. He gasped because there was a greater darkness in the black. Twin orbs, inky black, threatened to pull his spirit from its coil. Like a pair of collapsed stars the sentient voids swallowed light and something subtler still.

It was speaking to him. Speaking in books rather than words, drowning him in oceans of experience. He clasped his hand over his eyes and again heard its fevered chirping. But he had been stung. He wanted to know more. And so again he looked upon it.

His arm shot down involuntarily and cool smooth fingers closed over his hand. Before the sensation had a chance to produce panic the thing had clambered up his arm and leapt clear of the pit. Jim was too stunned by the novel panoramas of existence he’d just witnessed to be amazed at the feat of acrobatics.

He did not give chase as the imp disappeared chittering into the vast woodland.

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The Cottage – Part Twenty Three – (Short Story)

On By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, Original Fiction, The Fractal Journal, Uncategorized, Weird FictionLeave a comment
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Part One | Part Two |Part Three |  Part Four |Part Five |  Part Six |Part Seven |Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen |Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen |Part Nineteen | Part Twenty | Part Twenty One | Part Twenty Two

Three loud knocks raised him. Groggy and cursing Jim trudged past the glare of midday windows. The rude awakening nullified caution and he swung wide the door.

“What the fuck do you want?” He demanded of the strange mustachioed face that greeted him.

“Are you always this charming?” A soft midwestern accent questioned in return.

The guy was middle-aged and looked like a lineman turned high school principal.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Sir Luckadoo informed us that you may be having some trouble.”

“Sir…? What is this renaissance fair shit?”

“Well, I suppose he is a bit too modest to have informed you of his knighthood.”

“Look…buddy…I’m getting’ real tired of this goblin, knight, wizard bullshit. I’d love nothing more than to send those little fuckers straight to hell with the rest of ya. Why can’t everybody just leave me the fuck alone?”

“Still an adolescent I see.”

Jim slammed the door in his face.

The three knocks again resounded.

“Fuck off.”

“I’m afraid that’s not an option.”

“I’m armed asshole.”

“Threatening a federal agent is a bad idea, son.”

Jim swung open the door.

“A fuckin’ fed…thank Christ…I was wondering when you guys would bust these assholes.”

The strangers face was blank.

“I think you’re confused.”

“You bet.”

“What is it that you think is going on here, son?”

“A drug ring…ain’t it obvious.”

The principal shook his head.

“Well…what then?”

“You are responsible for the Western gate.”

“Pfft…more of this hick gibberish…you’re not a fed…” Jim said backing his way towards the Mossberg.

The stranger flashed a badge.

“I’m special Agent Thornton.”

“You’re special alright.”

“Come on kid. Don’t be stupid. I know what went on here the past couple of nights.”

“O yea…cause I certainly don’t.”

“Well, that’s your own doing.”

“Are ya fuckin’ kidding me? I’m supposed to make sense of this voodoo shit?”

“Well, you were given a manual.” Thornton shot a thick finger at Hant’s letter.

“Can’t make heads or tails of that shit. Waste of time…”

“Yes…I’m afraid you have wasted a lot of time.”

Jim rolled his eyes.

“So why are you here again?”

“To inform you that distracting them can only work for so long.”

Jim felt a chill. So, he really was being observed, if they knew about his recent deployment of Dutch’s trick…what else did they know?

“O?”

“Yes, you have to pass the threshold.”

“The threshold?”

“Of perception.”

Jim laughed. “You mean like the fucking Doors?”

Thornton smirked. “Something like that.”

“Well…uh…alrighty then…and how exactly do I do that.”

Thornton sighed. “Unfortunately, you have to work that out on your own. Though I can point you in the right direction.”

“Uh-huh…?”

“Do you suppose the sky is filled with nothing but death?”

“I have no idea. Nor do I care. I can barely find a reason for living down here much less guess at otherworldly horseshit.” Jim said lighting a cigarette.

Thornton sighed again. “Well, unfortunately otherworldly horseshit is your job.”

“O?”

“Yes. I know you’re very much inculcated in the new fashion. That you chose your path. That your profession is something that you can pick from a menu. I’m afraid that it isn’t so.”

“Hmm…my ma warned me about you protestants…”

Thornton chuckled.

“I don’t believe in a thing old man. Much less Calvinist horseshit.”

“I don’t think belief is necessary after all that you have witnessed.”

“See, there it is. That Baptist talk…witnessed…I’m tellin’ you I don’t buy it. And if I did, I’d go to the true Church like Ma wanted.”

“Well, my one task here is to leave you with a suggestion, with a key.”

“Uh-huh…”

“All men return to the earth from which they sprang. But the earth from which they sprang is full of wisdom. For it was not a folly that the Most High fashioned us from her dust. The light of stars spiritual and physical far beyond the Gnostic lie of duality. Matter is spirit, and spirit is matter, and any confusion about this is a trick of the devil. His armies have many tactics the chief of which is to trap spirit within matter through illusion. It is this that the El sell to Kings in exchange for temporal power. But this is a will-o-the-wisp. One that you must surpass to guard the gate aright. To stay the division till the appointed day when its revelation will strain the wheat from the chaff.”

“Jesus Christ dude.”

“Christ helps those who help themselves.” Thornton said and turned to go.

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The Cottage – Part Twenty Two – (Short Story)

On By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, Original Fiction, Stories, The Fractal Journal, Uncategorized, Weird FictionLeave a comment
Image result for esoteric hourglass
Part One | Part Two |Part Three |  Part Four |Part Five |  Part Six |Part Seven |Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen | Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen | Part Nineteen | Part Twenty | Part Twenty One

The first sensation was confusion. The second was thirst. Jim had never been that thirsty. He was ungainly on his feet and had to grip the closet door to keep from rejoining the floor.

He swung it open and found everything normal. There were no cosmic abysses, orbs, or goblin swarms. There was nothing but the balmy light of a Kentucky summer percolating through the window.

‘What sorta stuff have those hicks been sprinklin in my whiskey?’

But this thought was impossible. His face was raw and gritty. He wiped at it and gasped at the stream of reddish sediment that action produced. The sand was all too tangible, all too real. He plodded kitchenward, out the bedroom door, propelled by the gravity of crumbling denial.

Jim descended the stairs like a drunk and stuck his head under the faucet. After a sort of microcosmic phylogeny of lapping water like a beast, he regained enough humanity to shoot a hand for a large tin cup.

After three brimfulls he filled a fourth and sat on the cool marble floor with his back against the freezer. Yes, the floor was cool. And Jim was cold. No, this wouldn’t do.

All his bones ached as he stumbled onto the porch, down its steps, and into the meadow.  The warmth of the sun was pleasant and he sank down making a mat of the tall grasses. He lay on this organic stretcher long enough to begin to feel the first effects of  sunburn.

Sitting up Jim noted that the rings were still all there. He recalled all the strangeness. It was an insane reality he could no longer deny. Though traces of rationalization still lingered the insinct for survival overwhelmed them.

Supernatural or not, he must at least keep whatever was going on at bay. Right now his best bet, insane as it was, would be to use Dutch’s trick.

Realizing it would be an arduous task he decided to breakfast. Chasing away the soporific effects of a hearty meal with a large coffee he set about the business of checmical warfare.

His first idea was to make a Clorox trail to the hole by the stump. He was amazed old Lizzy hadn’t fallen into the trap when she’d come there to greive. He patted the grass to make certain the hollowness beneath the veneer was indeed present. He was very much satisfied that it was, and laid a bit of Seng on the mossy side of the stump, for good measure.

Next he laid out tins of the alleged goblin booze in all cardinal directions of the wood. He poured trails that circled in figure eights. He poured trails that led to water. He poured trails that led to cliff edges.

Maybe risking the injury of one of these critters was unwise but Jim was too annoyed by the alien nuisance to care.

The whole ordeal took up a quarter of the day. It was late afternoon that he placed the now considerably lighter and empty Clorox barrel in the center of the odd granite formation.

Once he returned home, had a late lunch and whiskey, he found that he was too tired to read the letter that was so perfectly balanced on the couch’s arm.

Though there was the sense of time slipping away. Though Jim’s sleepward brain was producing images of skeletons, galaxies, and hourglasses; he could not help but sink into yet another deep slumber.

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The Cottage – Part Twenty One – (Short Story)

On By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, Original Fiction, Stories, The Fractal Journal, Uncategorized, Weird FictionLeave a comment
Part One | Part Two |Part Three |  Part Four |Part Five |  Part Six |Part Seven |Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen | Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen | Part Nineteen | Part Twenty

He awoke in a desert. There was nothing about save for countless dunes that undulated like waves in every direction. The reddish sand was cold. In fact everything was cold despite the brightest sun that Jim had ever beheld.

It was well nigh white in luminosity. So ferocious was its radiance that he was forced to squint.

“Here the wrath of God descended.” Came a familiar voice.

Jim turned to see an unfamiliar face.

Or rather a mostly unfamiliar face. It took some time but the silver haired Wildman that stood before him was the very same specter that had rescued him from the granite.

“You stand upon ashes of the proud.”

Jim was dumbfounded.

“But it’s better to kneel…” Jim gathered before lightning pain crackled through his knees at the scythe swing of ghoul’s staff.

“Do not stand lest Abaddon be tempted. In this the place of desolation, the dwelling of wild animals, Jehovah has given the archangel charge.”

“What the hell is going on?” Jim ventured through gritted teeth.

“This was once Gomorrah.”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“They were brought low. They who stood so high. Who counted themselves the equal of the most high. Who succumbed to the gifts of the stars, they whom the archer commands, it was their arrows that armed the citadels Sodom built up against the Lord. They inclined their towers towards the fallen. And so their towers fell forever. Do you not hear the howling of the Djinn?”

“Let me go…”

“Impossible. It is not I who holds you. Not I, but folly. You are a fool.”

“I don’t care if I’m the dumbest motherfucker on Earth. This ain’t right. Let me out…!”

“I cannot. It is not I who holds you. Not I, but folly. So cease to be a fool…and go.”

Jim’s eyes darted about wildly. Nothing, there was absolutely nothing but cold desolation and the shrieking wind.

“I…I…I can’t.”

“What’s that fool? You say you cannot cease your folly?”

“..Shu..sure.”

“Good.” Again, the lightning pain flashed this time on his neck as his face met the sand. “Then eat of the dead. It’ll keep that God damned mouth closed and those ears good and open, fool.”

Jim was powerless.

“Principalities and powers abound. They whom the Lord established and they who war. It is your duty to discern the true voice. But, not even I have done this. Not even our line…ranging to the very first pillars of Ur. Their cunning is great and we are inextricably bound to serve. For the most high hears the cry of all his creatures and even the most wicked are given their due. So through sin we have been cursed to guard the gate. We who propitiated Ammon in our madness must to this late day continue. For all must pass in its hour. So our duty is to turn the glass. And to turn aright one MUST READ.”

The sand filled his lungs utterly and Jim awoke coughing in the closet.

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The Cottage – Part Twenty – (Short Story)

On By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, Original Fiction, The Fractal Journal, Uncategorized, Weird FictionLeave a comment
Image result for kentucky forest at night
Part One | Part Two |Part Three |  Part Four |Part Five |  Part Six |Part Seven |Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen | Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen | Part Nineteen

It was quiet for a spell. Jim had a week free of chirping and stealthy footfalls. He wondered if Dutch’s weird remedy had actually worked.

The thought made him laugh.

‘Of course they stopped stalking round. They’re part of the same Scooby Doo schtick. I dunno why they don’t just fess up and offer a deal.’

Jim was a stubborn man and held to the drug ring hypothesis with an almost religious zeal.

He’d considered calling the police. But, out here ‘…they’re probably in on it.’ He was no stranger to dirty cops. There were plenty of reasons to arrest him. But, the couple of times he’d actually been busted was a setup.

‘Luck of the Irish, my ass.’ He mused ruefully.

‘No use getting the feds involved either. This is way too boondocks for the suits.’

Besides, he didn’t want to be a rat. It must be hard to scrape out a living here.

Jim sighed and stretched himself out on the couch.

“This shit will figure itself out. It always does.”

He phased in and out of conscienceness as the fire crackled. Soon that pleasant sound was joined by the pitter patter of rain.

It was the perfect ambience for a blissfull sleep.

Except there was something off putting in the rhythm. Rain did not fall like that.

Jim’s eyes shot open and he listened.

‘Yea…rain generally doesn’t fall specifically on the windows.’ The realization sent a chill up his spine.

It wasn’t rain at all. It was tapping. Like dozens of fingers tap, tap, tapping at the window.

‘Do I fuckin’ look like Edgar Allan Poe.’

Slowly, gingerly, Jim sinewed his way snakelike onto the floor and shimmied to the window.

He lay just beneath it listening, considering his next step, and cursing the missed opportunity to take the shotgun.

Pitter…patter..pitter…patter…it was naseauting….he could almost feel the strange rustic fingers on his skin.

‘Gettin goosebumpy…’ Jim smirked at his cowardice in the darkness.

‘Sounds like more than one. Substantially more…’

‘Jesus, how long can they keep this up for?’ The sound had continued for at least an hour.

‘Do they know what room I’m in or they just trying some kinda general purpose fuckery….’

Then it occured to him to seek higher ground.

In the same slow, silent, serpentine fashion, he crept to the staircase and gingerly carefully tried to silence his crackling alcoholic joints.

After an agonizing aeon he found himself on the landing, then turning the knob with Chameleon circumspection he was in Hant’s bedroom.

Pitter…patter…pitter…patter….

‘How the fuck…’ Jim was incredolous.

There were no footholds in the harsh autistic symmetry of Hant’s cottage. The hybrid roof was to awkward for purchase.

The chill in his spine doubled.

He was frozen at the foot of the bed.

Jim didn’t know how long he lay there listening before his temper got the better of him and he shot up to his feet.

It was a brashness he instantly regreted.

Strange grey shapes with inky black eyes, strafed across his window, their impish passage revealing a bluish glow from the meadow beyond.

Whitish sparks, and glowing orbs, flitted in a void where a field had once been.

Jim scuttled away from the window like an overturned crab. Having secreted himself in Hant’s closet he promptly passed out.

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